Shrimp paste rice
Everything on this central Thai plate is arranged in little heaps around a mound of rice tossed with garlic and fermented shrimp paste: sticky caramelised pork (moo wan), threads of sour green mango, shallots, chillies, sliced long beans, crisp dried shrimp and ribbons of thin omelette. You mix a bit of each into every spoonful, so salty, sweet, sour and hot arrive together. It's a favourite at Bangkok's curry-and-rice shops and a clever way to use up yesterday's rice at home; lime wedges and cucumber cool it down. Chef's tip: use day-old jasmine rice straight from the fridge, because freshly cooked rice clumps and smears the shrimp paste instead of coating each grain.
A new country every day, from every cuisine on the site.
A Mombasa street favourite: potatoes cooked in a thin, garlicky tomato and raw mango sauce, ladled into bowls and piled with crushed potato crisps, crunchy sev and a fresh coconut and mango chutney. Everyone builds their own bowl to taste. Serve straight away so the crisps stay crunchy.
Champurrado is a chocolate atole, the thick, hot corn drink Mexicans have drunk since before the Spanish arrived. Masa harina is whisked into water and milk with Mexican chocolate (stone-ground with sugar and cinnamon) and piloncillo, a dark unrefined cane sugar, and cooked until velvety and spoon-coating. It is drunk on cold mornings with tamales or conchas, and above all during Día de Muertos and Christmas posadas. Chef's tip: always dissolve the masa harina in cold liquid before it meets the hot pot, and whisk constantly once it's in; dumped into hot milk it seizes into lumps.
In the Champaran district of north-west Bihar, near the Nepal border, mutton is cooked in an ahuna or handi: a clay pot packed with raw meat, whole bulbs of garlic, onions, mustard oil and spices, sealed shut with dough and left for hours on a slow charcoal fire. Nobody adds water and nobody stirs; the meat cooks in its own juices and the garlic turns soft and sweet. Roadside dhabas on the highways out of Motihari made it famous, and it is now cooked at family picnics and parties right across Bihar, eaten with rice or rotis. This home version uses a heavy pot sealed with foil and a lid. Chef's tip: shake the pot instead of opening it; every time the lid comes off, steam escapes and the meat dries out.
A thick, tangy Ethiopian sauce of soft masoor lentils blended with onion, garlic, green capsicum, chilli and mustard. It's eaten cool or warm as part of a spread of injera and stews. Serve hot azifa with injera.
Injera is the soft, spongy, slightly sour flatbread eaten with Ethiopian stews: you tear it and scoop the food up with it. This home version uses rice and plain flour fermented with a home-made starter over a few days, then cooked on one side until covered in tiny holes. Serve rolled and sliced with missir wat, azifa and atter kik. Any fermented batter left over keeps in the fridge for the next batch.
No South African braai is finished without braaibroodjies, the sandwiches that go onto the grid once the coals have died down, from Cape Town to the Highveld. White bread is buttered on the outside and filled with cheddar, tomato, onion and a thin smear of apricot jam, a sweet-and-savoury combination every South African swears by. They come off the fire smoky, crisp and oozing. A frying pan or griddle works when there's no braai. Chef's tip: toast them over gentle, ashen coals and turn often; fierce heat burns the bread before the cheese inside has melted.
Every 1 January, Haitian families from Port-au-Prince to Brooklyn wake up to soup joumou. It marks independence from France on 1 January 1804: under French rule, enslaved Haitians cooked this pumpkin soup but were forbidden to eat it, so the free people of the new nation made it their own as a dish of freedom. In 2021 it was added to UNESCO's list of the intangible cultural heritage of humanity. The base is a velvety purée of joumou (Caribbean pumpkin) with epis, and in it simmer chunks of carrot, potato, cabbage, celery and turnip, with pasta and a squeeze of lime. It's usually made with beef; this vegetable version is full and golden, rich enough for the day. Chef's tip: roast half the pumpkin before puréeing it; the caramelised edges give the soup the depth that slow-cooked meat usually provides.
A spicy Ethiopian stew of masoor lentils cooked down with browned onions, garlic, ginger, fresh tomato and tomato paste, and finished with red chilli and black pepper. It's thick, rich and hot. Serve with injera, alongside atter kik and azifa.
A mild, golden Ethiopian lentil sauce (kik alicha) of split bengal gram lentils simmered with onion, ginger, garlic, a pinch of turmeric and green chilli until thick and creamy. It's gentle and soothing next to the fiery missir wat. Serve hot with injera.
Fricassé are the small, soft fried rolls sold from glass-fronted counters in Tunis and the coastal towns, split while still warm and filled to order with tuna, boiled egg, olives, boiled potato, mechouia salad and a smear of harissa. They are an afternoon snack, a beach lunch and a Ramadan favourite. The mistake is frying the dough when the oil is too cool, which makes it greasy and heavy; keep the oil at 170 °C. Chef's tip: give the shaped rolls a full second rise so they puff and stay light inside.
Beskuit grew out of the Voortrekker need for bread that kept on long ox-wagon journeys; today a tin of rusks sits next to the kettle in homes from the Karoo to Pretoria, and they are dunked in early-morning coffee or rooibos. A soft buttermilk dough is baked as a loaf, cut into fingers and then dried in a low oven for hours until rock hard and crunchy. Chef's tip: dry the rusks slowly at a very low heat with the oven door slightly open; they should dry out completely, not brown further.
Buuz are the dumplings every Mongolian family makes in their hundreds before Tsagaan Sar, the Lunar New Year, in Ulaanbaatar flats and countryside gers alike, freezing them outside in the cold to steam for the stream of visitors. A simple dough wraps a juicy filling of chopped mutton, onion, garlic and caraway, pinched into a pleated shape with a small hole at the top, and the dumplings are eaten hot, with salty milk tea. The mistake is lean meat: buuz need some fat, or the filling is dry. Chef's tip: add a few spoons of cold water to the filling so it stays juicy when steamed.
A soft, savoury pie of blended boiled maize folded into a peppery white sauce and baked until golden on top. It's mild and comforting, a little like a corn pudding, and children love it. The eggs are optional: they make it set firmer. Serve hot with a salad or tomato stew.
Thoran is the everyday dry vegetable of Kerala, on the lunch plate in nearly every home and in the steel tiffin boxes carried to offices from Thiruvananthapuram to Kannur. Cabbage is the classic choice: shredded fine, steamed in its own juices with mustard and curry leaves, then tossed with coconut that has been crushed (never ground smooth) with green chilli, garlic and cumin. It comes out sweet, fluffy and lightly crunchy. Serve it with rice, sambar or moru curry, or eat it with chapati. Chef's tip: shred the cabbage as finely as you can; thin shreds cook in their own steam in a few minutes and stay bright.
Gurasa is a thick, soft, round wheat bread from Sudan, especially the north and west (Darfur and Kordofan), cooked in a covered pan rather than an oven. It is torn and eaten with mullah, ful or salata aswad, and for breakfast with sugar and a little oil or butter. The dough is a loose, yeasted batter, closer to a giant crumpet than a flatbread. Chef's tip: cook it covered over a low heat; a hot open pan burns the base before the thick centre cooks.
In Medellín and across Antioquia, red cargamanto beans simmered for hours are the heart of the bandeja paisa and of everyday lunch. The beans cook with grated green plantain and carrot, which melt in and thicken the pot, and are finished with hogao, the tomato and spring onion sauce. This version leaves out the pork hock and gets its depth from a long simmer and a smoky pinch of paprika. Serve with white rice, avocado and an arepa. Chef's tip: grate the plantain on the fine side of the grater; it dissolves into the beans and makes them creamy.
Around Monterrey in Nuevo León, no carne asada is complete without a pot of frijoles charros keeping warm at the side of the grill. Soupy pinto beans cook down with smoky bacon, chorizo, tomato and fresh chilli until the broth is rich and brick-coloured, and they are spooned into small cups next to grilled beef, guacamole and flour tortillas. Some cooks in the north add sliced frankfurters too; we keep that optional. Chef's tip: cook the beans plain until they are fully soft before the tomato goes in, because acid stops beans softening.
Cachapas are the roadside breakfast of Venezuela; along the highways of Aragua and Carabobo, stands called cachaperas grill them on big iron plates from early morning. They are thick, slightly lumpy pancakes made from fresh blended sweetcorn, sweet and savoury at once, folded over a slab of soft, stretchy white cheese (queso de mano) that melts with the heat. Mozzarella works well outside Venezuela. Chef's tip: keep a few whole kernels in the batter; the little bursts of corn are part of a real cachapa.
Frijoles de la olla, beans cooked slowly in a pot (traditionally clay) with just onion, garlic and a sprig of epazote, are the backbone of Mexican home cooking from north to south. Served brothy in a bowl with chopped onion, chilli and lime, they are a meal on their own; mashed and fried in oil they become frijoles refritos, the creamy refried beans that go into tacos, tortas, sopes and molletes. This recipe makes both: one pot, half served as it is, half refried. We fry in vegetable oil rather than lard, so it is vegan. Chef's tip: salt the beans only once they are tender; salting at the start won't stop them cooking, but adding it late seasons the broth better and saves you from oversalting as it reduces.
Slices of sweet potato dipped in batter, coated in breadcrumbs and fried until crisp, arranged around lettuce, grated carrot, tomato and sliced hard-boiled egg. The book's Handy Hints say sweet potato is good for the eyes and lifts the mood. Serve with tomato sauce, chilli sauce and mayonnaise; leave out the eggs (and use egg-free mayonnaise) for an egg-free salad.
Ask for a galão in a Lisbon café and it arrives in a tall glass, not a cup: one short espresso (a bica, in the capital's slang) topped up with about three times as much hot, frothy milk, so it is pale, mild and creamy. It is the breakfast and mid-morning drink of the city, ordered at the counter with a pastel de nata or a tosta mista, and the glass is held by the rim because it gets hot. A galão escuro has less milk, a galão claro more. Chef's tip: heat the milk only until it steams and the jug is too hot to hold for more than a moment, about 65 °C; boiled milk tastes flat and loses its sweetness.
A pot of frijoles negros simmers on the back of the stove in Cuban homes from Havana to Miami's Little Havana, ladled over white rice for lunch most days of the week. The beans cook until creamy, then a sofrito of onion, green pepper and plenty of garlic goes in with cumin, oregano, a pinch of sugar and a dash of vinegar, which gives the stew its gentle sweet-sour finish. Venezuelans make a very close cousin, caraotas negras, for pabellón, so this page covers both. Chef's tip: mash a ladle of beans against the side of the pot near the end; it thickens the broth naturally without any flour.
Café cubano, or cafecito, is the tiny, intensely sweet coffee poured into thimble-sized cups at every ventanita (walk-up window) in Miami and in homes across Cuba, often shared around the office at 3 o'clock. The secret is the espumita: the first few drops of coffee beaten hard with sugar into a pale caramel-coloured cream that floats on top. You need a stovetop moka pot. Chef's tip: catch only the very first, strongest drops for the foam; if you add too much coffee the sugar won't whip up.
Frikadeller are the everyday comfort food of Denmark, fried up for Monday suppers in Copenhagen, packed cold on rye bread for lunch and served at nearly every children's birthday. The mix is mostly pork, with some veal, so this is a pork dish, loosened with milk and bound with egg and a spoonful of flour to make soft, flattened ovals with a crisp brown crust. Danes eat them hot with boiled potatoes, brown gravy and sweet-sour pickled red cabbage, or cold the next day with pickled beetroot. Where people go wrong is frying them on too high a heat; the outside burns before the middle is cooked. Chef's tip: let the mixture rest in the fridge for 30 minutes before shaping; it firms up and the patties keep a neat shape in the pan.
Guriltai shul is the soup Mongolians eat almost daily in winter, from Ulaanbaatar canteens to herders' gers: strips of mutton simmered with onion, carrot and potato, and thick hand-cut noodles cooked in the broth. It is simple, warming and filling in temperatures that drop far below freezing. The mistake is cooking the noodles too long, so they swell and turn the soup stodgy; they need only 6–8 minutes. Chef's tip: rest the noodle dough well so it rolls thin without springing back.
Calabacitas a la mexicana is the everyday summer side dish of kitchens all over Mexico: young squash (calabacitas) cooked quickly with sweetcorn, tomato, onion and strips of roasted poblano until tender and juicy, finished with crumbled fresh cheese. Mexican grey squash is milder and more tender than courgette, but young courgettes work beautifully. Eat it with rice and beans, roll it into tacos, or fill quesadillas with it. Use queso fresco made with vegetarian rennet. Chef's tip: cook over a high heat and don't cover the pan for long; you want the courgette to fry and keep a bite, not steam into a puddle.
Frites are a fixture of French brasseries and street stalls, served in paper cones at markets and beside every omelette and salad in Paris cafés. The secret is frying twice: once gently to cook them through, then hot to make them crisp. In Provence, the dip would be aïoli, a thick, garlicky sauce that gave its name to the region's Friday feast. Our aïoli is made the old-fashioned egg-free way, with a little boiled potato to hold the garlic and olive oil together. Children usually prefer it with less garlic. Chef's tip: dry the cut potatoes thoroughly before frying; wet chips are the common mistake that make the oil spit and leave the chips soft.
On Christmas Eve, in kitchens from Split to Dubrovnik and out on the islands, bowls of fritule are fried by the dozen: small, airy doughnut drops scented with orange and lemon zest and studded with raisins, rolled in sugar while still warm. Many families add a splash of rakija or rum to the batter, but fresh orange juice works just as well and keeps them child-friendly. They are eaten all through Advent and the carnival season, often from paper cones at Christmas markets. Chef's tip: keep the oil at about 170°C; too hot and the fritule brown outside while the middle stays raw and doughy, the most common mistake.
Every Guyanese Christmas has a black cake, and many families start soaking the fruit months ahead, often the year before. Prunes, raisins, currants and cherries are minced and steeped in rum and cherry brandy, then folded into a buttery batter darkened with homemade burnt-sugar syrup, giving a moist, almost black, intensely fruity cake. This version makes the alcohol optional: grape juice soaks the fruit just as well, though the cake keeps for less time. Chef's tip: take the burnt sugar until it's very dark and smoking lightly; stop too early and the cake turns brown and sweet instead of black and bittersweet.
All over India, fruit sellers with handcarts chop a plate of fruit chaat to order, and in Kolkata the evening carts near New Market and Gariahat pile guava, apple, papaya, banana, pomegranate and cucumber into a leaf bowl with chaat masala, black salt and lime. During Ramzan it appears at iftar, and in summer it is sold with a sprinkle of chilli. It is sweet, salty, sour and a little hot all at once, so it tastes nothing like a dessert fruit salad. Chef's tip: use at least one crunchy fruit (guava, apple or pear) and one soft one (banana or papaya) for contrast.
Ask almost any family in Mexico about Sunday lunch or a cold, rainy afternoon and caldo de res comes up: bone-in beef shank simmered for hours, then filled with big pieces of corn on the cob, carrot, potato, courgette and cabbage, so each bowl is a meal. Fondas from Monterrey to Mexico City sell it at midday with Mexican red rice, warm tortillas and a dish of chopped serrano and onion. The marrow from the shank bones enriches the clear broth. Chef's tip: add the vegetables in stages, the hard ones first, so everything is tender at the same time and nothing turns to mush.
Chunky skewers of pineapple, banana, strawberry, peach and nectarine drizzled with balsamic vinegar and dark muscovado sugar, then grilled over charcoal until the sugar caramelises. Warm, sticky and a little tangy. Serve hot as a barbecue dessert, with ice cream if you like.
Fry jacks are the smell of a Belizean morning: in Belize City and the Cayes, breakfast spots fry these squares and triangles of dough until they balloon up hollow and golden. They come beside refried beans, scrambled eggs and cheese, or torn open and drizzled with honey or jam. They're lighter and puffier than a doughnut, crisp outside and chewy within. Chef's tip: roll the dough thin, about 3 mm, and slit each piece once in the middle; that's what makes them puff like a pillow.
Champuru means 'mixed up' in Okinawan and is the islands' everyday stir-fry. Goya champuru with bitter melon is the famous one; fu champuru, made with chewy wheat gluten, is the gentle, child-friendly version many Okinawan families cook several times a week. The fu, large dried rings called kurumabu, is soaked, squeezed and dipped in beaten egg, so as it fries it turns soft, fluffy and golden, a little like French toast. Home cooks often add luncheon meat; ours is vegetarian, with shiitake for savouriness. Serve with rice and miso soup. Chef's tip: squeeze the soaked fu hard before adding the egg. Dry fu drinks up all the egg; wet fu turns soggy.
Fuchka is Bangladesh's answer to pani puri, but with its own character: in Dhaka the crisp shells are filled with a coarse mash of potato and yellow peas sharpened with raw onion, chilli and coriander, then dipped in or splashed with a sour tamarind water rather than a mint-heavy one. Stalls along Bailey Road and at every fair sell them by the plate of eight, often with a little extra chopped chilli for those who dare. Chef's tip: make the tamarind water ahead and chill it hard; ice-cold sour water against a crisp shell is what you're after.
Fugazzeta is a Buenos Aires original from the pizzerias of the Corrientes and La Boca neighbourhoods, where Genoese immigrants' focaccia (fugazza) met mozzarella. A thick, soft pan dough is filled with a layer of mozzarella, sealed with a second layer of dough, then covered with a mound of thinly sliced onions and more cheese and baked until the onions are sweet and golden. It's a big, rich pizza to share. Use mozzarella made with vegetarian rennet. Chef's tip: salt the onions and squeeze them out before using; this keeps the pizza from going soggy.
Gâteaux piments ('chilli cakes') are the snack of Mauritius, sold hot in paper bags at every bus station, school gate and market from Port Louis to Rose-Hill, and stuffed into buttered baguettes at breakfast. Yellow split peas are soaked, ground coarse with chilli, spring onion and coriander, and fried into small crunchy rounds. They are related to Indian vadas, brought by the island's Indian community. Chef's tip: grind the peas coarsely and without water; a smooth, wet paste makes dense, oily fritters.
Ful mudammas is breakfast on both sides of the Levant: Cairo's street carts ladle it from huge copper pots at dawn, and in Beirut and Damascus small ful shops serve it on Sunday mornings to queues of families. Small brown fava beans are warmed in their liquid, partly crushed, then dressed at the table with garlic pounded with salt, plenty of lemon and cumin, a pool of olive oil and a heap of chopped tomato and parsley. Scoop it with flatbread and eat it with raw onion wedges, radishes, olives and mint. The mistake most people make is draining the beans and dressing them dry; the cooking liquid is what makes ful creamy, so keep some. Chef's tip: mash only about a third of the beans, so the dish is part silky purée and part whole bean.
Canjeero (also called laxoox) is Somali breakfast, made fresh each morning in homes and sold in cafés from Mogadishu to Djibouti: thin, spongy pancakes from a soured batter, cooked on one side only so the top is full of tiny holes. Eaten warm, they are drizzled with sesame oil or ghee and sprinkled with sugar, then rolled up with sweet spiced tea; on weekends they come with liver or beans. They are smaller and lighter than Ethiopian injera and made mostly from wheat. Chef's tip: spread the batter in a spiral with the back of the ladle, starting in the middle; that is what makes the thin, even, lacy sheet.
Antiguans eat fungee and pepperpot on Saturdays and on holidays like Independence Day in November, and grandmothers still turn the fungee with a flat wooden 'fungee stick'. Pepperpot is a thick stew of beef, spinach, aubergine, okra and squash cooked down until the vegetables melt together; many cooks also add salted pig tail, which is left out here. The fungee is a smooth cornmeal and okra mash, shaped into balls with a buttered bowl and served beside the stew. The mistake people make is tipping the cornmeal in all at once, which makes lumpy fungee; add it in a slow stream while stirring hard. Chef's tip: pour off half the okra water before adding the cornmeal and keep it hot; you can work it back in if the fungee gets too stiff.
Cook-up rice is the dish Guyanese families make to see in the New Year, and on any Saturday when the week's odds and ends go into one pot. Rice, black-eyed peas and vegetables simmer in fresh coconut milk with fresh thyme, spring onion and a whole wiri wiri pepper (small, round and fiery) until every grain is soft and glossy. It's richer and wetter than Jamaican rice and peas, with the vegetables cooked right in. Chef's tip: let the pot sit covered off the heat for 10 minutes at the end; the rice finishes in the steam and a little crust forms on the bottom that people fight over.
Cannoli were once a Carnival treat in Palermo; now Sicilian pastry shops fill them all year, piping the sweet sheep's-milk ricotta cream into the crisp, bubbly shells only when you order, so they never go soft. The ends are dipped in chopped pistachios, candied orange or chocolate chips. Traditional shells are fried with lard; this version uses butter in the dough and sunflower oil to fry. You need metal cannoli tubes. Chef's tip: drain the ricotta overnight and push it through a sieve; it makes a silky cream that holds its shape instead of a runny, grainy filling.
Cantucci, also called biscotti di Prato, are the hard almond biscuits of Prato, near Florence, where bakeries have sold them since the 1800s. The dough is shaped into logs, baked, sliced on the diagonal and baked again until crisp and golden, so they keep for weeks. In Tuscany they end a meal dipped in a small glass of Vin Santo; with coffee works just as well. The traditional recipe has no butter or oil, only eggs, sugar, flour and whole almonds. Chef's tip: slice the logs while still warm with a serrated knife and a firm sawing motion; once cold, they crumble.
You will really only find proper cao lầu in Hội An, the old trading port on Vietnam's central coast, where it's sold in small family eateries and along the riverside at lunch. The noodles are yellowish and unusually chewy, made with lye water that locals traditionally link to the town's ancient Bá Lễ well. They come almost dry, topped with slices of sweet five-spice pork, raw greens and crisp squares of fried dough, with just a spoonful of the pork juices. Because the real noodles are very hard to buy outside Hội An, this home version uses thick udon noodles, which give a similar bouncy chew; it is a substitute, not the original. Chef's tip: rinse the cooked udon in cold water, then dip briefly in hot water just before serving, so they are warm but firm.
Koesisters are Cape Town's Sunday-morning ritual: in the Bo-Kaap and on the Cape Flats, families buy or make a batch to eat with tea after the week's work is done. They are nothing like the plaited, crunchy Afrikaner koeksister. These are soft, cake-like, oval dumplings flavoured with cinnamon, cardamom, ginger, aniseed and naartjie (tangerine) zest, fried, briefly boiled in a thin syrup and rolled in desiccated coconut. Chef's tip: fry them over a moderate heat so they cook through to a fluffy centre before the outside turns dark; they should be a rich brown, not black.
Ugali, East Africa's staple of maize meal cooked into a stiff porridge, given a lift with toasted cumin, butter, fresh coriander and green chilli. Stir it hard and keep it soft. Serve hot with sukumawiki or any stew.
Caponata is the agrodolce dish of Sicily: cubes of fried aubergine, crisp celery, green olives and capers in a glossy tomato sauce sharpened with vinegar and softened with a little sugar. Palermo families keep a bowl in the fridge through late summer and eat it at room temperature as an antipasto, a side or on bread, and many say it is best on the second day. The sweet-sour balance shows the Arab influence on Sicilian cooking. Chef's tip: blanch the celery for 2 minutes before frying; it keeps a pleasant crunch without tasting raw.
Capuns come from the valleys of Graubünden, where every village in the Surselva and Engadin has its own way of making them, and they are cooked on cold evenings and for festivals in mountain inns. A soft spätzle batter flavoured with herbs and little cubes of air-dried salsiz sausage and bacon is wrapped in chard leaves, then the parcels are poached in a mixture of milk and stock and finished with butter and grated mountain cheese. The salsiz and bacon are pork. Most first attempts fail because the dough is too runny to wrap; it should drop slowly off a spoon, like very thick porridge. Chef's tip: dip the chard leaves into boiling water for just 10 seconds so they turn supple enough to roll without tearing.
Across Vietnam, from Hanoi apartments to Mekong Delta farmhouses, a small pot of something braised in caramel and fish sauce sits on the family table at dinner with rice, a plate of boiled greens and a clear soup. This chicken version leans on ginger, cut into fine matchsticks so it turns soft and warming in the glossy, salty-sweet sauce. It's a favourite when the weather cools, traditionally cooked in a clay pot, though any heavy pan will do. It reheats well, so it's a good one for the next day's lunch. Chef's tip: take the caramel to the colour of strong tea, deep amber, before the chicken goes in; that slight bitterness is what keeps the dish from tasting sugary.
In Jakarta, gado-gado is lunch from a pushcart: the Betawi seller grinds the peanut sauce to order on a stone ulekan, then tips blanched greens, potato, tofu, tempeh and egg into it and mixes everything by hand. The name roughly means "mix-mix", and that is how it's eaten, with every vegetable coated in a sauce that's nutty, sweet from palm sugar, sour from tamarind and as hot as you ask for. It's a full meal on its own, crunchy with emping or rice crackers on top. Chef's tip: loosen the peanut sauce with warm water only at the end and stop when it coats a spoon like custard; too thin and it slides off the vegetables and pools on the plate.
Brought to Lampang and Chiang Mai by Burmese teak traders in the 1800s, this coconut-free curry is now the dish Northern families cook for temple fairs, weddings and Songkran, often a day ahead in a big pot. Chunks of pork belly and shoulder braise slowly until they almost fall apart in a dark, glossy sauce that tastes of ginger, garlic and warm spices, sharpened with tamarind and rounded with palm sugar. It should be thick enough to cling to the meat rather than soupy. Serve it with steamed jasmine or sticky rice and a crisp cucumber salad. Chef's tip: make it the day before; overnight in the fridge the flavours settle and the fat sets on top so you can lift some off before reheating.
Across upper Assam, among the Tai Ahom, Mising and many tea-garden families, pork with fermented bamboo shoot is the dish that turns any gathering into a feast. The bamboo shoot gives a sour, almost cheesy tang that cuts through the rich pork, and a little bhut jolokia (ghost pepper) brings slow heat. It is cooked with very little oil because the pork fat does the work, and is served with rice and a leafy side. Chef's tip: choose shoulder or belly with some fat on; lean loin turns dry and stringy here.
Every Cantonese table needs a plate of greens, and gai lan (Chinese broccoli) is the favourite in Guangdong homes and Hong Kong cha chaan teng. The stems are thick, sweet and slightly bitter, the leaves soft. Restaurants blanch it and pour oyster sauce on top; here a mushroom-based vegetarian oyster sauce gives the same dark gloss and savouriness. Chef's tip: add a spoon of oil and a pinch of sugar to the blanching water; the oil keeps the greens bright and shiny, and the sugar softens the bitterness.
Every spring, from February to April, Roman market stalls pile up round, thornless romanesco artichokes (cimaroli), and trattorie serve them alla romana: stuffed with wild mint, parsley and garlic and braised stem-up in oil and water until meltingly soft. They are eaten warm or at room temperature as a contorno, often next to their crisp cousins, carciofi alla giudia. Any large globe artichoke works at home. Chef's tip: braise them upside down, stems in the air and tightly packed, so the hearts sit in the liquid and the stems steam to the same tenderness.
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